Page 166 of The Sisters of Sea View
“Take us to him,” Mr. Hutton repeated, his tone harsh with suppressed emotions.
“Yes, sir. Right this way.” The workman set down his tools and turned to lead the way.
They silently followed the man, who walked with a hobbling gait, down a corridor that smelled of antiseptic, sawdust, and blood.
Viola felt sick and her heart pounded painfully hard. She wouldn’t, no, couldn’t believe it. It could not be true. Yet had she not warned the major about this very possibility? She had told him not to put his life in that charlatan’s hands but felt no satisfaction at being right.
As they turned a corner, a door opened a few yards ahead of them. Out of it stepped two men. She recognized one instantly: Abner Cleeves. Beside him was Dr. Davis, whom she had seen with him in Sidmouth.
“You!” Viola shouted, and both men jumped.
All her former fear and powerlessness ignited into white-hot fury. “You liar. Deceiver. Killer.”
His colleague turned to him in alarm.
Cleeves scowled at her. “That woman is mad. Get her out of here.”
“No!” Viola cried, standing her ground. “This is all your fault, Abner Cleeves!”
A stout older man burst into the corridor from a nearby office, looking right and left. “Cleeves? Abner Cleeves?” Gaze landing on the surgeon, his brows gathered like black storm clouds. “What the devil are you doing here?”
Mr. Cleeves lifted his chin. “Dr. Davis and Mr. Bird granted me permission to use the theatre for two procedures.”
“I can’t believe you had the gall to return.”
Dr. Davis said, “Sir, if you are not aware, Mr. Cleeves is a renowned, highly trained surgeon.”
“Balderdash,” the stout man snapped. “Abner Cleeves was the worst apprentice it has ever been my misfortune to mentor. And since then, I’ve received several reports of his misconduct.”
Unnoticed by the medical men, the workman opened a door markedOperating Theatre. Exchanging glances, Mr. Hutton and Viola quietly slipped away from the ongoing argument and into the room, afraid the others might try to stop them, given a chance.
Inside the room, the sight of a sheet-covered figure and bloody sawdust nearly made her gag.
Mr. Hutton pressed her arm. “Stay here. I’ll look first.”
She nodded, afraid she would be sick any moment. How much worse must his own father be feeling?
Face pale and grave, Mr. Hutton walked toward the table, approaching the shrouded figure. His hand, when he lifted it, shook.
He pulled the sheet back from the head and looked down.
“Thank God.”
Hope tentatively rose. “He is not dead?”
“Oh, he’s dead, poor soul. But he’s not Jack.”
“Are you certain?” She was afraid to believe it. “The man said it was a beastly business.”
“I would know my own son. This man is closer to my age than Jack’s.” He respectfully replaced the covering.
Viola held herself stiffly, still dubious. “I don’t understand.”
“Nor I. Yet this is good news, for us at least.”
“It seems too good to be true. Perhaps he operated on the major first, and this is already a second ... victim?”
“Come, my dear. Let’s get out of here and find Jack and the others.”
